


Memory Map

by scrapbullet



Series: Teen Wolf Drabbles [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Feels, Gen, but Isaac is okay really, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 08:46:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott's nostrils flare. "You smell like-"</p><p>Like grief. Yeah.</p><p>Funny, that. But it isn't exactly right, not really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memory Map

People sometimes wonder why he just sat back and took it. Only sometimes. People have an unsurprising tendency to ignore what dangles in front of their noses, even when proof -- in the form of blood and cuts and bruises -- is staring them in the face. So Isaac doesn't mind so much anymore; why bother? It's a flaw of the human condition. Nothing he can do to change it.

When Derek comes to him, it seems like too much of an easy-out. The soil beneath his knees damp and the inescapable fear -- of Derek, of other, of his _dad_ \-- it all leads to the inevitable. 

Derek offers, and Isaac takes.

But then, maybe it's better to say that he's _taken_.

Family has never been quite like this, like Pack, though there is something within him that is just as afraid of Derek as he had been of his dad. It never really goes away. Not when Derek is all dominance and heavy-handed instruction. And yet, it isn't the same. This, this is instinct. This is baring his throat to the Alpha, showing submission and loyalty and getting family and pack and protection in return, regardless of danger or injury.

This isn't being locked in a box so small he couldn't breathe, couldn't do more than scratch his fingernails uselessly against ice-cold metal-

No, it's not the same.

It isn't.

"Hey, you okay?" Scott smells like dry grass and boy-sweat and Isaac is strangely appeased. Although his head says that Scott rejected Derek, and by extension _him_ , his gut says otherwise. His gut says home, says Pack, and these days Isaac has taken to trusting his gut and his instincts more than he ever did before.

Scott's nostrils flare. "You smell like-"

Like grief. Yeah.

Funny, that. But it isn't exactly right, not really.

"I know you were in my house, Scott." Isaac says, and laughs, because Scott looks so _contrite_. He looks like he wants to apologise, and Isaac ducks his head and grins, because when was the last time someone _apologised_? 

His dad used to, before he closed the lid. 

"You don't have to say anything; s'cool. That you know. He wasn't always like that. He used to be," his lips twist wryly, and when he closes his eyes it's like it used to be, when she was alive, when he'd cuff the back of Isaac's head out of affection rather than disappointment. "He used to be different. I remember that."

Isaac remembers. And that's why he can't hate him, not completely. Not when those memories are what anchors him, gives him the control he so desperately needs on the night of the full moon. On that night, with the rage so close to the surface, Isaac looks inward. Even now -- especially now -- that he's dead.

The memories are all he has left.

Scott leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He smells like uncertainty, and Isaac is all too aware that he doesn't quite understand. But he doesn't question, doesn't push the issue, and for that Isaac is grateful. More than grateful. Scott does nothing more than sit with him, fingers idly fidgeting with the zipper on his backpack, silent, and it's enough.

Pack is more than just blood; it's this. 

Isaac... could learn to get used to it, maybe.


End file.
